


A Temporary Fix

by corgasbord



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, Fluff, M/M, but it doesn't have to be read that way, of the platonic variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgasbord/pseuds/corgasbord
Summary: Shuuichi has a bad habit of biting his nails when he's anxious (which is all too often). Rantarou has a fantastic idea to help him break it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so lately i've grown really fond of the idea of platonic amasai in which rantarou acts kind of like a cool, distant big brother and shuuichi doesn't know how to feel about it. as a result, this ended up being kind of self-indulgent, but i hope y'all enjoy it anyway!
> 
> ([tumblr](http://corgiboard.tumblr.com/post/158719768700/a-temporary-fix) link)

Everyone has their nervous habits, the little quirks their bodies adopt to help them cope with stress. Some pull hair, whether by the strand or the fistful; others noisily click pens; still others compulsively scratch itches that aren’t there.

Shuuichi’s particular vice is nail biting.

He never realizes that he’s doing it, of course - not until it’s too late and he’s already worn the upper layer of keratin down to the base, leaving nothing to chew on. He’s not proud of it, but because it’s not a conscious habit, it seems almost impossible to break.

But there are worse ways to deal with anxiety. Nail biting is relatively harmless, and not something most people notice him doing.

So, it comes as a surprise when someone actually calls attention to it.

“Do you normally bite your nails like that, Saihara-kun?”

Shuuichi jerks his head up as though startled, letting his the tip of his thumb slip from his mouth. “Huh?”

Rantarou is standing next to Shuuichi’s desk, having apparently migrated over there while Shuuichi was daydreaming and waiting for the last class of the day to start. The taller boy had been leaning in slightly as if to examine Shuuichi’s nails, but Shuuichi’s reaction causes him to straighten again. “Ah, sorry if I’m being too intrusive. I just couldn’t help but notice… you’ve been doing that for a few minutes now.”

Embarrassed, Shuuichi looks down and folds his hands in his lap. “Oh. I didn’t realize it.”

Rantarou hums. “That’s not good. It’s hard on both your teeth and your nails.”

Shuuichi can’t help but wonder why Rantarou cares, or seems to think that it’s any of his business, for that matter. “I- I appreciate the concern,” he stammers, mildly affronted, “but it’s really not necessary-”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of the bell ringing. It comes as a blessing, since Rantarou takes it as his cue to return to his own desk with an apologetic smile. Assuming that that will be the end of it, Shuuichi exhales quietly in relief.

Once again, his assumption proves incorrect.

Rantarou approaches Shuuichi again after class while the latter is getting ready to leave. “Hey, Saihara-kun. Do you mind coming with me for a bit? There’s something I want to show you.”

Shuuichi regards Rantarou warily, wondering if he realizes how suspicious that sounds. “Why?”

“Well, I think I might have a solution to that problem of yours,” Rantarou replies. It’s intentionally vague, but it automatically brings Shuuichi’s bad habit back to mind.

“You mean my nails?” Shuuichi frowns defensively. “I don’t think that’s really necessary- I mean, they’re not that bad-”

Rantarou interrupts him. “May I see them?”

That makes Shuuichi pause, hesitating. He’s aware that “no” is a perfectly acceptable answer, but now he feels like he has something to prove. So after several moments of silent deliberation, Shuuichi begrudgingly lifts one hand, palm down, for Rantarou to look at.

He’s startled when Rantarou actually goes so far as to take it, holding it delicately and craning his neck to peer more closely at Shuuichi’s fingers. “Ah… It’s as I thought. You’re biting your nails often, aren’t you?”

Shuuichi jerks his hand away, cheeks dusted faintly pink. Rantarou is proving a lot more perceptive than he normally lets on. “Regardless, it’s not anything you need to worry about,” Shuuichi mutters, letting his eyes fall to his desk in shame.

“Hm. Maybe not,” Rantarou agrees, shrugging. “But as I said, I do know a way to help you stop.”

“And what would that be?” Shuuichi asks doubtfully.

Rantarou simply offers him a cagey little smile in return. “Can you trust me? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Shuuichi’s eyes narrow slightly. The two of them aren’t exactly close; Shuuichi could consider Rantarou a friend by extension, given that they share a mutual friend in Kaede, but they don’t interact much beyond that. So Shuuichi can't imagine what could be motivating Rantarou to make such an offer, or more importantly, why he thinks that Shuuichi should trust him. After all, how can Rantarou claim to be able to eliminate a habit that Shuuichi’s struggled with for as long as he can remember?

His urge to decline wavers, however, when he remembers the friend that they have in common. For someone so blithely optimistic, Kaede is a good judge of character. Shuuichi doubts that she would have remained friends with Rantarou for so long if the reticent boy harbored any ill will. Besides, even if whatever Rantarou has in mind doesn’t work, is there really any harm in humoring him?

With that in mind, Shuuichi finally lets out a sigh of resignation. “All right, fine,” he says, getting to his feet and shouldering his bag. “But please make it quick.”

“Oh, good. You won’t regret it,” Rantarou assures him, but for some reason the statement makes Shuuichi feel like he just signed a contract without reading the terms and conditions.

Before he can get another word in, though, Rantarou takes his hand again and starts tugging him out of the room and down the hallway. “Hey, wait-” Shuuichi begins to protest, shocked by the strength of Rantarou’s grip. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere special,” Rantarou replies calmly.

Indeed, the supply closet in the nearest boys’ bathroom is nowhere special, but getting dragged into it in spite of his increasingly panicked pleas to _wait just a damned minute_ doesn’t make Shuuichi feel any better about that.

“Sorry,” Rantarou says as he shuts the door behind them, not sounding sorry in the slightest. A dusty light bulb flickers on overhead seconds later. “I just figured that this spot would give us more privacy.”

Shuuichi’s shoulders stiffen nervously. “What would we need privacy for?”

“Hey, don’t get any weird ideas.” Rantarou ignores the question. “I know it’s not very comfortable, but like I said, I’ll only need a few minutes.” He then nudges a stool in Shuuichi’s direction and gestures for him to take a seat, but Shuuichi only does so when Rantarou upturns an empty bucket and sits down himself.

“So, what exactly do you plan to do?” Shuuichi reiterates as he settles into place.

Rantarou doesn’t give a verbal answer, which does nothing to ease Shuuichi’s agitated nerves. Instead, he opens one of the side pockets on his bag and withdraws a slim, oblong instrument, rounded at the edges.

“A nail file?” Shuuichi asks, puzzled.

“Here, let me see your hand again,” Rantarou prompts, holding his own hand out expectantly.

After several prolonged moments of consideration, Shuuichi reluctantly complies. “I don’t see how this will help,” he says as Rantarou begins to gently sand down one of his fingernails.

“Well, when you bite your nails, it leaves jagged edges that are more likely to catch on things,” Rantarou explains distractedly, the majority of his focus directed towards whittling away at what remains of Shuuichi’s thumbnail. “And of course, it can also lead to hangnails, especially if you bite them down as much as you have… there’s really not much left here to smooth out, honestly.”

Doing his best to swallow his embarrassment about that, Shuuichi presses, “But how is that supposed to get me to stop?”

Rantarou makes a soft _tsk_ ing noise. “Don’t worry, I’m getting there. Patience is a virtue, Saihara-kun.”

The implicit condescension in Rantarou’s tone makes Shuuichi bristle slightly, but he lets the other boy continue, and even obediently holds out his other hand when the first one is finished. The sensation is odd, and not one Shuuichi’s entirely sure he likes. Still, he tolerates it because the product is unexpectedly satisfying, as he discovers when he drags the pad of his thumb across the edges of his newly smoothed nails.

When Rantarou is done with that, he releases Shuuichi’s hand in order to dig something else out of his bag. “So, which of these colors do you like best?” he asks, and with a flourish he reveals three bottles of nail polish, held up between his fingers.

Shuuichi blanches. “You’re going to paint my nails?”

“Yep. And you get to choose the color,” Rantarou says cheerfully, waving the bottles a bit.

Somehow, Shuuichi isn’t surprised that Rantarou carries around nail polish with him. Everyone already knows that Rantarou paints his own nails (today they’re the same soft, verdant green as his eyes). No, Shuuichi is surprised that Rantarou seems insistent on painting _his_ nails, too, even though he should have caught on the second Rantarou pulled out the nail file.

“Aren’t I allowed to say no?” he asks, visibly uncomfortable with the idea.

“Well, yes. Technically, there’s nothing stopping you from getting up and walking out right now,” Rantarou points out. “But this is the best way I can think to help you quit. And, if I’m allowed to offer my opinion on it, I think a simple coat of black would look really striking.”

“But I don’t _want_ it to look striking,” Shuuichi practically snaps. His fingers ball anxiously into fists in his lap, and his gaze falls to lock on them when he realizes that that came out sounding harsher than he’d intended. Inhaling and exhaling once through his nose, long and slow, he continues more softly, “I’d rather not draw any extra attention.”

Shuuichi can’t expect Rantarou to understand. The two of them are different in myriad ways, but especially so in the sense that Rantarou appears to care little about what others think of him. He’s willing to confidently embrace effeminate tendencies in the face of potential ridicule, whereas Shuuichi could never do the same. Shuuichi shies away from the feminine because he can’t afford to have his masculinity called into question.

A brief silence falls between them, during which Shuuichi seriously contemplates leaving and pretending this never happened. Then Rantarou speaks up again, his tone thoughtful. “I see.”

There’s some quiet shuffling, and Shuuichi risks a glance up in Rantarou’s direction. Rantarou tucks the bottles of polish back where he got them, only to bring out another, this one completely clear. “How about this, then?”

Shuuichi eyes the new bottle with a skeptical frown. “I’m not sure…”

“Just hear me out,” Rantarou says, turning the bottle over to tap it against his palm. “It’s clear, so it’s not really noticeable, and it still has a bitter taste that will discourage biting. So, even if you try it just this once and decide that it doesn’t work for you, it won’t be a big deal. Right?”

Shuuichi considers this, worrying his lip as he watches the side of the bottle repeatedly hit Rantarou’s palm. Never before would he have taken Rantarou for the persuasive type, yet here he sits, turning that reasoning over and over in his head and failing to find anything wrong with it. It actually makes sense. What’s the worst thing that could realistically happen in this scenario?

At last, in the absence of any logical way to counter that, Shuuichi huffs out another deep sigh. “All right. I suppose I can give it a try.”

Rantarou smiles and sets the bottle between his legs, uncapping it and carefully sliding the brush out. “Excellent. If you can just hold your hand out again… oh, and try to stay still.”

Shuuichi does as he’s told, and Rantarou uses his free hand to delicately cup Shuuichi’s smaller one and begin applying the clear coat in small, even strokes. The brush tickles faintly, and the sharp, heady scent of the polish isn’t particularly pleasant, but he still does his best to keep his hands from shaking.

Another minute passes quietly in that manner before Shuuichi, spurred by equal parts curiosity and growing unease, decides to pose the question that’s been nagging at him since they started. “Hey, Amami-kun… why are you doing this for me?”

Rantarou doesn’t look up. “Oh, do I need a reason?”

Shuuichi gives him a bewildered look. “Well- I suppose not, but I assumed you had one. We aren’t really… I mean, we’re not exactly what I would call, er…”

“Friends?” Rantarou offers helpfully, looking vaguely amused.

Shuuichi finally settles on, “We don’t talk much.”

“Ah.” Rantarou delivers the final stroke to Shuuichi’s left thumb, then looks over Shuuichi’s nails once more with a satisfied nod before motioning in the direction of his opposite hand. Shuuichi wordlessly holds it out for Rantarou to take, and he does, picking up his work again without missing a beat. “Well, that’s fair. Then, to answer your question… I would probably do this for anyone who asked, but I guess I just felt compelled to go out of my way to help you. Maybe because I feel like I understand.”

“You understand?” Shuuichi echoes, brow furrowing at the ambiguity of those words. “Understand what?”

“I used to bite my nails, too,” Rantarou elaborates. “That’s part of the reason I started painting them. I also like the way they look, though.”

“Oh.” Shuuichi takes a few moments to wrap his head around that. Rantarou is one of the most laidback and levelheaded people he knows - certainly not the kind of person Shuuichi would expect to have nervous habits of any kind.

It seems that he’s just full of surprises today.

“All right, the first coat’s done,” Rantarou says as nonchalantly as ever, ignorant to Shuuichi’s musings. “Give it a few minutes to dry and I’ll put on another, just to make sure it stays.”

“Oh,” Shuuichi repeats dumbly, pulling away. “Um. Okay.” He then looks down at his nails, unconsciously moving his fingertips at different angles to see how the dim light catches on the freshly polished surfaces.

Apparently noticing the way Shuuichi is staring at his handiwork, Rantarou smirks. “I know you agreed to this for practical reasons, but don’t they look nicer now?”

In spite of how flustered that makes him, Shuuichi manages a nod. “I guess so, yeah.” And they do look nice, but not nice enough to turn any heads, thankfully.

“I get it if you’d rather not make a statement, though. It’s not for everyone,” Rantarou adds, the relaxed, unassuming smile returning to his face. “On the other hand, if you ever _do_ change your mind…”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Shuuichi says quickly.

Rantarou shrugs. “Mm, all right. In any case, just know that you’re welcome to ask me for help if you want them done again.”

Shuuichi pauses, then answers with a tentative, “I’ll think about it.”

Looking pleased, Rantarou asks for Shuuichi’s left hand again, and it’s with far less trepidation this time that Shuuichi gives it to him. Oddly enough, he doesn’t feel the need to force a conversation anymore, either. He’s content to simply watch the brush glide over his fingertips, filling out each nail under the direction of Rantarou’s amazingly steady hand. The atmosphere between them isn’t what Shuuichi would call _comfortable_ , exactly, but at the very least, it’s no longer awkward. 

Ultimately, it’s a more bearable experience than Shuuichi anticipated.

“There you are,” Rantarou says as he pulls away, screwing the lid back onto the bottle of polish and returning it to his bag. “That should be enough for now. It’ll last at least three or four days, roughly.”

“Oh,” Shuuichi says again, for lack of a more intelligent response. “Um, right. Okay.” He isn’t sure if three or four days will be enough to tell whether it works or not, but at this point there’s little choice but to take Rantarou’s word for it.

Rantarou then gathers his things and stands up with a heavy, satisfied sigh. Shuuichi follows suit, now acutely aware of the top coat still drying on his nails and doing his best not to touch anything in the process. By the time he’s on his feet, though, Rantarou is already moving to leave.

“Hey, wait!” Shuuichi blurts without thinking, causing Rantarou to stop and glance back at him with one eyebrow raised. Suddenly feeling silly, Shuuichi hesitates, casting his eyes down self-consciously. “Um… thanks. I mean, I don’t know if this will do me any good yet, but… for the sentiment, I guess.” His voice lowers towards the end out of embarrassment at how clumsily he worded that.

Rantarou’s expression softens, though. “Don’t mention it. And let me know if it works, okay?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he opens the closet door and exits the bathroom with a little wave.

Shuuichi stares after him blankly until it occurs to him that he should get going, too. _What a weird guy_ , he thinks as he makes his own hasty retreat, shaking his head. _I still can’t figure him out._

But the first time Shuuichi lifts his fingers to his mouth and promptly jerks them away, leaving a bitter taste between his teeth, he begins to entertain the notion that maybe, just maybe, Rantarou was onto something.

**Author's Note:**

> painting your nails won't make your anxiety go away, but hey, at least they'll be pretty


End file.
